


To Drag a Stick Through Mud

by Hammocker



Series: Pure Oswald/Victor Works [2]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Filthy, Frottage, Grinding, Literally Filthy, M/M, Mud, Rain, Roughhousing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-05-04 21:38:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5349425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hammocker/pseuds/Hammocker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Victor brought out an animal in Oswald, an animal nothing like his elegant penguin totem,</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Drag a Stick Through Mud

**Author's Note:**

> There's a lot of mud in this piece, and there aren't really any pretty synonyms for mud either. Just figured I should make that clear beforehand, just in case. It's also just kind of weird in general. I don't know if this or Le Freak is weirder anymore.

Oswald stepped out from his car onto the pavement, extending his umbrella skyward to shelter himself from rain droplets. It hadn't poured so hard in Gotham in weeks. The plants needed it, what little plant life there was in the city, and Oswald couldn't complain. He didn't mind being a little wet, not in the reasonably warm early fall climate. Not to mention that it gave him a chance to show off that, unlike some crime bosses, he could hold his own umbrella, thank you.

As he limped up towards his manor, movement off to the side of the building caught his eye. Among overgrown hedges and a tree or two, a patch of mud appeared to be sloshing about more than the rain alone could cause. Come to think of it, Oswald really did need to hire a decent groundskeeper. There shouldn't have been plots of dirt that wide on any respectable property in the first place. In any case, he approached and found that there was indeed an external source of movement within the pit. A very familiar, very sinewy body.

“Victor?” Oswald said, face scrunching.

He really shouldn't have been surprised, not with the scars and the groupies and the disco. Rolling around in mud was relatively normal, all things considered. And, Oswald had to admit, Victor being covered in muck was somewhat stirring in its primal way. Especially considering that, if Oswald wasn't mistaken, he was wearing even less than usual.

“Hello, Oswald!” Victor called, sitting up and raising a filth-covered hand.

“Dare I ask what exactly are you doing?”

“Enjoying the weather,” Victor said. “I don't know what everyone is doing inside.”

“Are you- naked?”

“Of course,” Victor said, as though the question was completely absurd. “Earth doesn't do clothing any good.”

“And it does your skin good?” Oswald asked. He'd heard of mud baths, but never in plain yard mud.

“Why not come and find out?” Victor let his torso drop into the mud with a squelch, emphasizing his words. “Indulge with me.” 

It shouldn't have been a tempting offer. Oswald would inevitably end up dirty, uncomfortable, and possibly humiliated. But, if Victor could make disco enjoyable, then perhaps he could make mud enjoyable as well.

“One moment,” he said, turning away from Victor.

Oswald might be throwing his decency to the wayside, but he wasn't about to put his clothing in harm's way. Much of it anyway. He hurried inside and hung up his umbrella before divesting himself of clothing until only an undershirt and briefs remained. Maybe one day he could be as comfortable with public nudity as Victor was, but today was not that day.

Before he could make it back to the door, however, Selina padded out from the kitchen, holding a carton of milk. The damn thief. She caught sight of him and froze. He froze in turn, and the two of them simply looked at each other for a long stretch.

“What are you staring at?” Oswald asked once words finally found their way to his tongue.

“Nothin',” she said with a shrug before turning to head for the stairs. As she went, Oswald just barely heard her mumble, “Freaks.”

Rude girl. Terribly rude. But such was the way of cats, he supposed. He would have to address her milk stealing habits in the near future. More important things to attend to just then.

As he headed back outside, Oswald couldn't help but second-guess his decision to “indulge” with Victor. He was already soaked, beginning to feel a chill, and even still partially clothed, his natural sense of modesty was beginning to eat at him. His mother had raised him a proper, hygienic child. He'd never played in the mud; he'd never wanted to. Yet something about Victor made him want to partake in debauchery of all kinds, be it purposeless sex or frolicking in the mud. The assassin was utterly shameless, infectiously so. He brought out an animal in Oswald, an animal nothing like his elegant penguin totem. Oswald wasn't sure what to make of it, but the pleasure it brought made resistance difficult.

He found himself back at the mud hole, but hesitated at its edge. Standing over it just then, it seemed larger and more intimidating than any rival mob boss had ever been. Funny, how the king of Gotham could be unnerved by something as silly as mud. Something his underling had dove into without a second's pause. As he looked up, he met Victor's eyes, and they asked an unspoken question: what are you waiting for?

It was a good question.

Oswald took his first tentative step in, one foot and then the other. He continued until he was standing next to Victor. The pit went up to his ankles at its deepest, it seemed, and while it utterly appalled his sensibilities, the mud's texture was oddly pleasant. He could see why Victor would want to wallow in it, though, he didn't quite know where to start.

“Am I meant to-?”

Oswald got halfway through the question before Victor lashed out, grabbed one of his lower shins, and yanked his good leg out from under him. He landed flat on his back and sunk down several inches. It was just cold enough to draw shivers from Oswald. He was keenly aware of the miry substance oozing against his scalp and in his hair. It was all over his back, easily seeping through his thin shirt. Not unpleasant necessarily, but very unfamiliar and off-putting.

“You need to jump into things sometimes,” Victor said, shifting over to look down at him. “Earth isn't deceptive like you. Dirt is dirt.”

“You find this enjoyable?”

“Yes,” Victor said, placing a mud-slick palm on Oswald's chest. “Why else would I do it? Why else would I do anything?”

“You only do things you enjoy?” Oswald asked, wrinkling his nose as he lifted one arm up. Pale skin contrasted dark gunk then. He had the urge to rub it in.

“Don't you?” Victor countered.

“Not- not entirely,” Oswald said. The cold was setting into his spine, sending tremors through him. “One can't move up in the world through self-gratification alone.”

Victor didn't look at Oswald's face as he spoke nor did he reply at first. He was busy feeling down Oswald's shoulder and arm, as though he was looking for something, contemplating the skin.

“You won't shake when you get your blood pumping,” he finally said.

Oswald shuddered as Victor unceremoniously pulled the both of them to their feet.

“Tussle with me,” he said, taking a step back.

“You expect me to contend with you?”

“No,” Victor deadpanned. “Now push me.”

With hesitance, Oswald put his hands on Victor's chest and gave a cautious push.

“Is that your best?” Victor asked, entirely unmoved.

Oswald was dirty, cold, and suddenly a bit annoyed. If Victor wanted to play games, then he would oblige.

He pushed once more, hard as his mediocre build would allow. This time, Victor toppled backwards, arms spread out wide.

“The king's might has shoved me down, whatever will I do?” Victor said, placing a hand over his heart while the other reached out towards the sky.

Oswald had the urge to kick Victor. Even in sarcasm, he didn't appreciate being mocked. He was immediately robbed of the opportunity, however, as Victor reared up, wrapped his arms around Oswald's waist, and brought him down into the mud with a splash.

It was an awkward position, not quite facing towards or away from Victor. Oswald could only squirm and writhe against his hold, and one of Victor's hands was getting too close to his loins for comfort. He didn't want to lose too easily.

An idea struck Oswald. He shoved one of his hands into the mud and flung a wave of it at Victor's face. Victor grunted and loosened his grip just enough for Oswald to wriggle out into the mud, the suddenly much warmer mud.

He was on his back once more, free for the time being as Victor rubbed at his face. But what more could he do? Oswald glanced around for ideas, but the only weapon he had was mud. Victor wasn't likely to let him get away with the same trick twice. And otherwise, the only thing he had to defend himself with was his own body. His own, less-than-adequate body. At the same time, the idea of allowing Victor to overtake him through sheer physical superiority had become very appealing as of late. Victor was a dominant force, only Oswald's underling by choice. Victor could have his head at any time, and Oswald may have developed certain attachments to that vulnerability. Being in a position of power constantly was tiresome and Victor had no trouble relieving that burden, if only briefly. So Oswald sat and waited like a piece of prey, frozen in fear and uncertainty, as Victor finally cleared his eyes and refocused on him. The blue of his eyes had turned striking against the black mud covering his face and Oswald knew exactly what was about to happen.

Victor lunged at Oswald, a little awkward thanks to the terrain, but still as precise as ever. He grabbed Oswald by the wrists and shoved him back into the mire before straddling his hips. Fixing his eyes on Oswald's, Victor ground their crotches together through his thin layer of clothing. 

The sensation was much thicker and wetter than usual, to say the least, but that was far from a negative. He let out a strained mewl, tossing his head back. Blood flowed towards his groin all too rapidly. Victor had been right, Oswald realized. His heart was pumping rapidly and he was no longer cold at all. He was quite hot, actually.

“Helpless like this,” Victor growled. “You need me.”

Victor's eyes were blown wide, pupils all but swallowing his irises. His nostrils flared intermittently and his lips were parted just enough to show off his teeth. He wore a face that would have terrified anyone else, would have terrified Oswald even in a different situation. And, true, it did make Oswald's stomach twist in knots, but, for once, that wasn't unwelcome.

Victor kept up a harsh friction, driving Oswald deeper into arousal. More than that, though, the sense of submission, of being pushed down, gave him a rush like nothing else he'd ever experienced. His breathing had picked up and lightheadedness was beginning to whittle away at any rational thought Oswald might still have had in his head.

Victor released his grip on Oswald to lean forward and press their foreheads together. Oswald took the opportunity to reach up and grip his shoulder, anchoring himself as best he could.

“Show me,” Victor rasped, breath hot on Oswald's lips. “Show me.”

That was his cue to finish, or so previous experience suggested. Oswald still wasn't sure exactly what Victor was demanding to see. In any case, he wasn't quite there just yet. Chasing an orgasm, but not close enough.

“Victor,” Oswald breathed, his mouth hanging ajar. “I- I can't-”

“Now.”

The word was more snarl than speech, and a hand came to circle around Oswald's throat, squeezing. His windpipe was suddenly cut off and a shock jolted through him. He would have expected it to kill his erection, but rather it gave him the push he needed.

Scrabbling at Victor's back, Oswald felt his orgasm wash over him. He bucked his hips up against Victor's as a string of strangled whimpers and strained moans poured from him. It was a little too good, a little more than he was used to maybe. Strange, seeing as Victor usually went far beyond simple grinding. His gaze drifted downward and found that any expelled fluid had been lost in the mud. It was one way to give back to the Earth, he supposed.

At the same time, Victor reared up, rubbing thoughtlessly against him. He let out choked yowl, and, though Oswald couldn't feel it through the filth, he was well-aware that Victor had climaxed as well. Quick and dirty. It was apropos and a great relief.

The rain had thinned to a drizzle in their time wrestling and grinding. The mud pit was feeling less and less like mud by the minute. Oswald didn't care. He was as utterly filthy and shameless as Victor right then, and could have fallen asleep there if left to his own devices.

“That's enough for one day,” Victor said, shifting off of his form.

Oswald nodded without a thought. He didn't even mind the layer drying soil covering him that much anymore. It felt like he was a snake losing its old skin, a little uncomfortable and tight, but natural. He lifted both of his arms above himself to look at them in wonder.

“I'm- I'm filthy,”

Victor squinted at him, like it was an unusual observation to make. “Yes, you are.”

“Mother would flay me,” he giggled, letting his arms fall limp.

“Likely,” Victor agreed.

“We should do this regularly.”

“I like that idea,” Victor said, maneuvering an arm under Oswald's shoulders and prompting him to sit up. “Do you like the idea of bathing?”

“Yes!” Oswald exclaimed. “Yes, that is an excellent idea.”

“Good.” Victor pushed his other arm under Oswald's knees and stood, lifting him with ease. “We both need to bathe.”

“Yes, yes, we do,” Oswald mumbled with a sluggish nod

Resting his head against Victor's shoulder, Oswald allowed his eyelids to droop. His higher brain functions had ceased and a rare satisfaction took the place of his constant, rapid thought. It was pleasant. Not quite a situation he had ever imagined himself feeling satisfied in, but what did that matter? He was happy and in Victor's arms and he would enjoy it right then.

**Author's Note:**

> Oswald.exe has stopped working. Please wait while we find a solution.
> 
> I wanted to take a minute to vent some of my thoughts of Victor. I'm still working to solidify his character in particular in my own little headcanon thing. I want a really solid vision of Gotham's Zsasz to go along with my very solid concept of comic Zsasz. I'm thinking that Victor's primary motivation should be unfiltered hedonism, seeing how much pleasure he seems to take from his work and just about everything he does. Plus it's a nice counterpoint to his comic incarnation's extreme nihilism. In the same vein, I get the sense that Victor is very much in the moment, only rarely thinking about the future or the past, which may stem from his animalistic qualities. A lot of things about Victor are very animal, really. Need to do more thinking on all this, though, it's not all set in stone. I don't think too hard about this stuff, not at all.
> 
> Critiques, suggestions, and thoughts are always welcome. The pacing feels a bit funky here to me, but I wasn't sure how I might fix it, if it needs to be fixed.
> 
> Also, I'm thinking about writing a second chapter to this, but I already spent more time than I ever intend to on this. Plus I need to figure out the details.


End file.
